


Drabbling in Fandoms

by Ariana Deralte (ArianaDeralte), ArianaDeralte



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling, Hornblower, Naruto, Revolutionary Girl Utena, Rurouni Kenshin, The Sandman
Genre: Drama, Horror, Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianaDeralte/pseuds/Ariana%20Deralte, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianaDeralte/pseuds/ArianaDeralte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles from various fandoms, some proper length, some longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kenshin Omake

The guide motioned for his group to take cover. They did as they were told, hiding in various bushes and behind trees. There was silence in the forest.

Their patience was rewarded a moment later. A tall man with flowing dark hair walked into view. He wore a brash white and red cape with a high collar that swirled about him as he walked. The swirling revealed the presence of a sword underneath the cape, though its owner seemed more concerned with carrying the two large sake jugs he held underneath both arms.

The man paused for a moment, looking about the forest, his eyes narrowed in disgust. But whatever he saw was not enough to make him drop the precious sake.

No one in the group breathed until he was past. Once he was sure of their safety, the guide gestured for them to gather around.

"Now that, my friends, was an example of the rare Sojuro Hiko. Note the swirling white cape with red trimmings. Truly a magnificent sight." He headed off down a forest path, expounding upon their next target, Saitou Hajime, his group hanging on his every word.


	2. Raidou

It was a stupid thing, but Raidou had always resented his name. His parents had been the type of ninja any hidden village would love to have - they were strong, loyal, and dead. Well, maybe the village wouldn't want to have the 'dead' part, but they were only dead because they'd lived up to his name. Their declaration that he would 'blindly follow' whoever was in charge was to be their own fate.

They had died for Danzo. For Root. And Raidou had lost them long before then to the great tree of Konoha. In response, Raidou had given his loyalty to Sandaime.

Raidou supposed it was true that he was a lot like his parents before him – except for the dead part. But it wasn't true about his name. He may have been a follower, but he had always done it with his eyes wide open.


	3. Satin Sheets (Utena)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this](http://www.arianaderalte.com/random/BigTouga.jpg) (not exactly work safe). *waits for people to clean up their drool* Consequently, drabble is more racy than I had intended;)

The sheets were of the highest quality. Touga would only have been surprised if they weren't. He ran one hand over the fabric. It was still smooth despite how hard he had been clutching it a few moments ago. He ran a hand over his exposed stomach, and smiled to himself. Still smooth too. He shivered. His skin had been burning, but now the coolness of the room was beginning to tell. He longed to burrow under the covers or perhaps to burn again.

Never letting his frown show, he cradled his head with one hand, staring off into the darkness around the bed.

Sometimes you had to give up power to receive it.

He let his hand trail down his stomach again, eyes fixed on the darkness. The sheet only covered one of his legs and his groin. He moved his hand onto the satin.

Finally, the click of a camera.

Touga impatiently flicked the rest of the sheet off. "Come back to bed, Chairman."


	4. Hornblower Anachronism Challenge

"Message from the Admiralty, sir," said Bush respectfully, holding out a piece of paper.

Horatio frowned and lowered the glass he had been using to watch the French corvette they were chasing. They'd have her cornered soon. He took the paper and tried not to gap at it in dismay. His orders were to break off the chase.

"When was this sent?"

"Five minutes ago." Bush pointed to the top of the page. "There's the date and time stamp."

"We only began chasing her an hour ago!"

"Our orders are to report any irregular action immediately."

Damn those fax machines!


	5. Sandman: Large Dreams & Crowded

Large Dreams

It is 1953. The dream king is lost. His world and the dreams within it are like sheep without a shepherd. And like any abandoned herd, some sheep wander off in search of better sustenance...

Jeremy turned over in his sleep, one hand flung out wildly to hang over the edge as in his dreams he passed the next day's Biology exam with 200 percent.

A dark, hairy shape approached on all fours. It regarded the sleeping boy for a moment then, almost daintily, took the hand in its mouth and began to feed.

Jeremy woke up, feeling the lose of a good dream. He noticed the beast before the pain. Noticed that his hand had disappeared into its mouth and that its dull eyes were black and unemotional.

"This is a dream. This is a dream," he told himself, even as great stabs of pain began to make their way up his arm.

And then the beast pounced.

"Nightmare," was Jeremy's last thought.

His screams woke the neighbors.   


* * *

  
Crowded

The Dreaming was always crowded. Sometimes it didn't seem that way. You could walk for days in any direction and see no one. But then you would turn around and discover that everyone had been behind you, or worse, look up and see them peering down at you.

This place was created for the lost ones. Those who had no place in another kingdom. Those who felt they had no place anywhere. The Dreamlord became their father, their ruler, and best friend. You could be content, if not happy in the Dreaming.

Nualla wondered why it felt so crowded today.


	6. HP: 1381 - England - Staff Troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is permanently unfinished, but you can see where it was going. The latin means, "Of two evils, the lesser is always chosen."

He was a priest.

The thought still made him laugh. When Colesworth had first suggested the idea, Teague has suggested that his friend had had a few too many ales. They had both had too many ales that night, but in the morning, the idea had made a startling amount of sense.

As a herbologist, he needed to travel the country without worry of being accosted by Muggles, or worse, identified for what he was. Once a wizard lost his wand…He shuddered at the thought.

Luckily, being identified was of no consequence dressed as he was. The priestly garb fooled all but the keenest eyes, and when some mother asked him to bless her child, he was happy to mutter a few Latin phrases over the babe. _De duobus malis, minus est semper eligendum_ was good advice in any case. And he always made good his escape afterwards; he was not above pretending to be French if it got him away without having to remember enough Latin to give an entire sermon.

Strolling along the dirt track that served as a road, he was preoccupied with getting an Anti-itch spell off of the next wizard or witch he met. The garb of a lowly priest was itchy as hell and ill fitting to boot. Colesworth was going to feeling his own Itching Charm once Teague got home.

That was two weeks away, if he kept up this pace. Twenty jars full of specimens graced an expanded pouch around his waist. He had ten more empties that were waiting to be filled.

A gentle rain began to fall, and Teague began to walk faster. The Hellebore samples that he wished to collect would keep better if he cut them while it was damp. There was a Muggle village up ahead. The glade where the best Hellebore grew should be just beyond it.

The village looked like every other Muggle village he passed through. Similar looking houses covered in thatch. Herbs and other strange memorabilia hung under the eaves of most of them. Some of it was to ward off witches, and he had to quell his mischievous urge to tamper with the 'charms'. It would do no one good if he got pulled before the Council for fuelling Muggle superstitions that way.

The dirt track was turning to mud under his feet, but there was an unusual number of Muggles still out. They were gathered in a little clearing at the centre of the village. All attention was focused on the speaker.

"Our lord," sneered a thin man with blonde hair, "does not care for us. How often has our rent been raised in the past few years? What of the poll tax? What of all the extra expenses that have been taken from us?"

Teague got the impression that the majority of the people in the crowd agreed with the man.

The balding man, who the questions had been directed to, shrugged. "We are better off than some. Our lives were spared by the pestilence. I see no reason to cause trouble now," he said.

Teague did not wait for the blond man to respond. He did not want to be around if the Muggles got violent. He ducked between two of the houses, intent on circling the village and getting to his precious Hellebore. Unfortunately, someone had left a bundle of reeds in his way. His foot caught on the bundle and he toppled forward. His staff flew out of his hand and his head hit the wall of the cottage with a large thunk.

There was darkness for a minute, then the world was spinning. He got up with a groan, annoyed at his clumsiness more than anything else. A glance around revealed he was alone. A panic gripped him. Alone and without the staff that should have fallen only a few feet in front of him. The staff that held a unicorn hair at its core and served as his wand in these uncertain times.

Beyond the house, he could still hear the voices of the Muggles raised in anger.


End file.
